


Rum and Raybans

by craple



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M, Underage Drinking, isabelle is drunk-just-drunk, jace is a depressed drunk, kyle is not drunk enough for this, magnus is a king, simon is a horny drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craple/pseuds/craple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon’s had too much to drink. Magnus is the not-so-innocent victim. Jace contemplates suicide. Kyle wants to murder them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rum and Raybans

**Author's Note:**

> title: sean kingston's. the lack of jace/simon in this fandom is utterly _depressing_ by the way. someone needs to fix that.

Magnus’ late-night party is private, for once. The lack of blinding colourful lights and trashy music and Downloaders around is kind of startling. In Simon’s opinion anyway, seeing that he may or may not have been invited more than a few times to the party, and may or may not have lost his virginity to some vampires – or another, after having had too much to drink.

Not that Simon is complaining, really. After being turned, everything tastes like shit and a bunch load of ashes, which, _speaking from experience_ here is literally the most disgusting thing _ever_. Being a boy scout once had its perks and not-perks after all, though Simon cannot recall, for the life of him, what those perks were.

But, back to present; tonight is a private party held for one Jace Wayland. It’s kind of weird to be inside Magnus’ house once again without half-naked, inhumanly beautiful creatures to ogle around. Kyle and Isabelle on the other hand, look as relaxed as one could be in a practical-mansion belongs to the most powerful warlock in this side of the city.

Jace simply looks as miserable as he probably feels. Simon would feel bad, if he hadn’t expected something like this – this being Clary breaking up with him – to happen long before Jace came knocking at his and Kyle’s apartment, looking as miserable as he does now.

Oh well. That’s about to change.

\--

Seventy minutes to the clock since the moment Magnus uncapped the first bottle, and Simon is on his eleventh something glass.

Definitely not alcohol, what with the different metabolism that prevents him from getting drunk on alcohol, but the purpose of this spiked delicious liquid he’s been drinking for an hour and ten minutes is similar. It’s even better than his first time smoking pot, or that one time Eric somehow managed to get a hand on cocaine, and Simon can’t stop _drinking_. And talking. In that order.

Jace’s face is pretty and unimpressed at Simon’s entire being, but. That’s probably Jace’s default expression when he’s around Simon, though; unimpressed downright _pained_. Simon can’t blame him. After all, _Jace_ is the one who’s supposed to be shitfaced wasted on this – thing, whatever it is – since _he_ was the one who broke up with Clary.

Which is, the _nicest_ Simon manages to get out, because saying ‘Getting Dumped’ in front of Jace’s face will only earn him a solid punch to his nose and, regeneration aside, Simon would rather not feel pain at all. Particularly by Jace’s fist which is clenched and tense and shaking around the neck of his sixth-seventh glass.

Simon frowns and reaches for Jace’s hand. Bringing it up near his face, untangling each finger one by one, until James flexes his fingers and relaxes. Five long calloused fingers flexing dangerously close to Simon’s elongated fangs. The taste of Jace’s skin, salty and sun-kissed, suddenly overwhelming everything else.

Like Isabelle’s getting-laid-tonight-perfume or Kyle’s I’m-only-here-for-the-drink dazed expression as he downs each and every single drink Magnus has to offer.

Magnus himself looks pretty fucking wasted too, and that’s practically the half-truth.

Brushing the tip of his fangs against Jace’s knuckles, Simon _licks_ the skin there– watches Jace’s eyes as he does so, watches the dark dilated pupils, _feels_ the vibration of Jace’s shivers, the taste of his arousal, strong in the air – and laughs as long and hard as he can.

Jace looks startled, but otherwise comfortable and not bothered enough to be moving soon. Simon takes the opportunity to nip at the sensitive skin, making a show of slurping the tiny little droplet with his tongue. Then he throws himself back against the leather cushion with another maniac laughter.

“Oh, dude,” Simon gasps between not-needed-air. “The look on your _face_.” He then proceeds to face Magnus, slouching on his side of the couch with an amused smile on his face. “Have I ever told you that you’re so pretty?”

Magnus’ smile is a smirk. “Yes. You have also mentioned that I am the ‘Greatest Creature on Earth’ the night you slept on my bed, with two other people.” The blue-ish liquid in Magnus’ glass is downed in a second.

“If memory serves, I also recalled you drank quite a lot of _Hexenbeast_ ’s honey. What and how many have you had, precisely? Just to be sure so I can alert the police when someone tries to steal another piece of pornographic art down the Seventh.”

“Excuse you, it was not a pornographic art.” Simon scoffs dismissively. “And the owner gave it to me for free, so it wasn’t theft.”

“No, prostitution, more like.” Magnus deadpans, flicking his wrist and the glass is refilled.

Jace pushes Simon’s foot off his lap, scowls at the toes that were digging into his inner thigh provocatively as if they had personally offended him. Which they have. Obviously.

Simon sits up and whines; making grabby motion toward Jace’s everything. “Jace, _Jaaaace_. You’re a lame drunk. Why are you such a lame drunk, when we’re celebrating your – what are we celebrating again?”

“He just broke up from his girlfriend,” Kyle offers helpfully. Isabelle nods before burying her head into the bucket of not-wine-but-smells-like-it excitedly, ignoring their presences in the room.

“Yes, yes, that of course. We are mourning.”

“Clary’s not dead.” Jace says offhandedly, removing Simon’s fingers off and away from his thigh. Simon smiles, a tipsy red-lipped little smile. Jace clears his throat awkwardly.

“I know what we need,” Simon announces. “A lap dance!” Isabelle does not perk up, but she does look a little bit dazed when she finally removes her face from the bucket. “Do we have to pay? Cause I only have twenty in my pocket.”

Kyle looks at her sassily. Because Kyle is sassy. And he is hot. But he is also taken. Which is way hotter. “The fact that you only take a minute to consider that offer is not remotely disturbing at all.” Kyle deadpans, as he is Magnus’ protégé, and also has been hanging around Simon too much. He is Magnus and Simon’s lovechild.

Which apparently Simon says aloud, since everyone looks at him judgingly. Simon turns to Jace. “You still haven’t told us why she broke up with you.”

“Something about being in love with someone else,” Jace replies easily. “Or lusting over someone else, I’m not sure. She was shouting a lot that day.”

“Oh,” Simon says. “I’m sorry man.” He tells Jace seriously. Jace smiles, blank and bitter, but there is also relief, and Simon doesn’t understand.

“You should,” is all Jace says, before he uncaps another glass. Simon beams.

\--

“I am considering that lap dance offer right now,” Magnus informs the room at large when he finishes drinking a bottle of something straight from the bottle of something. “I’ll even pay you, though you’ll probably forget about that by the time I’m done with you.”

His voice promises something dark and filthy, and Simon visibly shivers, then scrambles to climb all over Magnus’ lap. Kyle blinks wearily.

“Holy shit,” Kyle says. “Simon Lewis, get the fuck off the Warlock’s lap, I repeat, _get the fuck off_ before I rip your throat with my blunt human teeth.”

Isabelle is watching the proceeding more interestedly than she was a moment ago. Jace looks strangely murderous.

Simon –

Grounds his hips down against Magnus’, arches his back and moans and whines. Magnus’ fingers tighten on his bicep.

“Oh my – _fuck_ , Lightwood, call your fucking _brother_! Simon, stay the fuck away from the fucking _belts_ and – _Wayland get your hands off the fucking steele,_ or I _swear_ –“

\--

The next morning, Kyle ends up with forty-six healing bruises and a deeply traumatised soul.

“I hate you all,” Kyle says, when he kicks them all out of his flat the moment they decide to finally come to apologise.

**Author's Note:**

> kyle is sassy.


End file.
